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chief of police should be driving after a beer?”
    “Umm, one beer for a six-foot-two, one-hundred-and-ninety-pound man as opposed to two margaritas for a five-foot-four, one-hundred-pound woman? I’ll take those odds.”
    “I don’t weigh a hundred pounds.”
    “Whatever. You’re tipsy.”
    “I’m not tipsy.”
    He pulled onto the highway, and the lights merged into a diffused glow. She squinted and the lights blurred even more. Maybe she was tipsy.
    He pulled in front of the Sea View Motel. “Is Gladys still on duty?”
    “Gladys is always on duty. Since her husband died, she pretty much runs the place on her own.”
    Dylan held her hand as they followed the path to her motel room. His grasp felt warm and sure and right. Maybe she would stick around long enough to discover how he got that tattoo.
    They reached the door of her motel room, and Mia turned on her toes, not sure what to expect. Had this been a date? A get-together of old friends? Maybe she should just let Dylan take the lead. She didn’t always have to be the one taking charge and making decisions.
    A smile touched her lips, natural and spontaneous. “Thanks for dinner.”
    “My pleasure. It was great…catching up.”
    She fluttered her fingers toward the courtyard. “I guess if I were staying at a nicer place, we could have a drink in the bar or something.”
    “I don’t need another drink, and neither do you.”
    Did he just slam the door in her face?
    “Umm, you’re probably right.” She gripped his arm and rose on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on his rough cheek. “Good night, Dylan.”
    His eyes glowed for a moment like he wanted to devour her. Then he pinched her nose. “Good night, Mimi.”
    He stepped back as she gave him a halfhearted wave and shut the door. Leaning her hot cheek against the cheap wood, she heard his retreating footsteps.
    With that gesture and the childhood nickname, Dylan had doused any flame that had been dancing in the pit of her stomach. He’d made it clear he wanted to keep things platonic.
    She could do that.
    She kicked her leather flip-flops into the corner and shrugged out of her sweater. She’d better torpedo any romantic thoughts she had about Dylan and get back to business.
    The solid rap on her motel room door had her forgetting all her dire warnings to herself, and she flew to answer it.
    She flung open the door, ready to throw herself into Dylan’s arms. Instead, she faced a squat, beefy man with tangled black hair, a gold-toothed leer and a tattoo just like Dylan’s.

Chapter Six
    Dylan cruised to the corner in his truck with the window down. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the single headlight from a motorcycle that turned into the Sea View Motel. He accelerated away from the stop sign and buzzed up his window against the noise from his engine.
    Engine noise.
    Why hadn’t he heard any noise from that bike heading into Mia’s motel?
    He roared up the highway, and then made a U-turn at the first opportunity. With his heart racing as fast as his engine, he careened back down the road toward the Sea View. His truck bounced and jostled as he drove it into the driveway, and he threw it into Park right behind Gladys’s old Saab.
    And the Harley leaning into its kickstand.
    Dylan shoved open his door and jogged down the semilighted path to Mia’s room. Her voice rose into the night, sure and strong:
    “Get lost.”
    The adrenaline in Dylan’s body pumped into his extremities, putting every muscle on high alert. A low growl rumbled deep in his throat when he spotted the squat figure at Mia’s door, his booted foot in the doorjamb, his hand reaching for his waistband.
    Dylan’s jog turned into a sprint and he hurtled himself at the man, knocking him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground.
    Mia screamed.
    The solid form beneath him grunted and cursed. Dylan drew a breath into his tight chest when he met the eyes of Rocco Vick.
    Dylan drew back his arm and slugged the scumbag